Thirteen Days and Gone
by Kishimojin
Summary: What if Naomi and Light met once more before her death? Naomi isn't not herself anymore. Mad with the Death Note's curse, she pines for cruel revenge over what Light did to Raye. She may be doomed, but she'll make a wannabe god suffer before she's gone.
1. Planning

**Thirteen Days and Gone**

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><p><strong>Explanation:<strong> I'm reposting this story from the dn_kink2 meme on livejournal ( .com) because of a few mistakes I made with the cannon and continuity (and spelling).

I'll be reposting it in 5 parts over multiple days so that I can abuse my readers for longer. The whole thing is on livejournal though.

**Warning:** It contains graphic torture and rape. Rated M, but not romantic at all. Also: religious themes, angst, and predictably unhappy ending.

**Request:** "Naomi's Rape Revenge" by _(Anonymous) :_

_Exactly what it sounds like. Naomi finds out Light is Kira before he can kill her, so she kidnaps him and rapes him in vengeance for Raye._

_Bonus if you include NaomixB or NaomixL somewhere. That would be cool, but not necessary._

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><p>Chapter 1: The planning<p>

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><p>A few days after Raye died, Naomi Misora took the bus to the police station on a grey afternoon. It was the first time that she'd gone out. Everything around her took on a dingy tone, and everyone complained that it looked like rain. That seemed right to her; she felt like, at any moment, she might cry.<p>

Some teenagers in the seats in front of her were laughing and even singing stupid American Hip Hop music and making fools of themselves. It seemed unfair to her that anyone could be so happy. The sky threatened to break and release its contents as she stared to the side, so she took a breath and straightened up, trying to harden her feelings so that she would be more effective in her task.

Her feelings would remain hard until a few minutes after the rain actually did come, when she would hand her name over to Kira and begin a thirteen-day downward spiral that would end her life.

What happened before the name was written isn't important now. What is important to relate is that it took her thirteen days to actually kill herself, but 40 seconds from the time Kira put his pen to a tiny strip of paper, Naomi Misora was not Naomi Misora, because giving in was something that Naomi would never do. But, as written, when he said, "I'm Kira," she felt the world go from grey to black, instantly crushed beyond any natural depression.

Although the pattern of her thoughts would degrade over the course of the thirteen days, Her mind continued to churn with thoughts resembling her normal reason and logic. "He's Kira," she thought, "He won't help me find the investigation team, and I'll never get in touch with L. If I stay any longer he may kill me."

Light Yagami offered her his phone, but she couldn't bring herself to touch it. She thought that maybe she'd die if she touched it, have a heart attack if she even looked back at him. She couldn't think straight.

"No thank you," she managed to stammer at him, while inward she wondered, "What's wrong with me?"

"Goodbye, Naomi Misora," he said callously as she stumbled away.

"Why did he say my name like that?", she muttered as she walked away, not sure where she was going, "That wasn't a normal goodbye. Is that how he kills? "Goodbye, whoever. But I'm not dead. Will I be hit by a car on my way home, like that man on the bus Raye took?"

She decided to take the subway instead of walk.

"And why did he tell me he was Kira? Was it so he could show me what a shitty detective I am? Why am I so useless? Why didn't I just listen to Raye and stay home? Why do I feel so awful? Do I have a curse? No! That's stupid… Maybe I should just kill myself, I'm such an idiot."

Naomi continued not to think straight and wish to see Raye again until she got home. When she got home unscathed the thoughts only got worse without the preoccupation with getting home and the dangers of traffic and train derailments to take up some of her time. For a while she just looked out the window at the rain falling down and tried to remember a time before Raye, back in the United States where she and L had worked together. She was so strong and determined back then... Such a good detective, an outstanding Agent of the law. But now so useless, scared, depressed, and beaten.

She thought about this over and over, hating herself more and more.

In a brief reprieve she thought, "Maybe it's not so stupid, I know that he doesn't use natural means..." But then faltered, "I'm not thinking straight… I wish I was with Raye…"

She decided that she had the energy to do nothing more than sleep. She slept for 16 hours, dreaming of Raye, Kira, and a hangman's noose. When she come round she woke suddenly, at 4am, and decided that she must kill herself with a noose in a place no one would find her. But her well-trained mind continued it's deductive process, "I'm alive now, but could Kira still kill me? Why do I feel like this? What if suicide is a way that Kira can kill? Yes, I think it is…"

That was when something odd happened.

"No you useless idiot!" a disagreeing voice in her mind answered, taking her by surprise. She never 'answered herself' like that...

"But… It must be," she answered The Voice, now feeling like she may as well carry on the internal dialog, "I know that he needs a name and face, and that he can kill with accidents, not just heart attacks. He must use names to cast his curses..."

"DO YOU KNOW HOW STUPID THAT SOUNDS?"

Naomi noted that her own thoughts now seemed foreign to her and decided to think of The Voice as almost a separate Naomi. A Naomi in ruins, disheveled and angry, dangerous like an animal, but still her.

"No… It's not stupid… We know that Kira kills from afar somehow. I may as well call it 'curses', for lack of a better term. And if suicide is a way that he can kill it could explain why I feel like this."

"Isn't it natural to feel like shit when you fail at life and the one you love most _dies_."

Naomi gulped, continuing her line of thought, "And he let me know that he's Kira. Either he trusts me for no reason, thinks I'm no threat, or took me for dead... He can't trust me, he can't be careless enough to let me go, but I'm not dead after all this time. Maybe he hasn't already killed me because his curse only works on criminals… Or… Kira has already killed me."

"Well, you're still alive, aren't you?" The Voice laughed mockingly.

"Yes. Maybe he can't control when it happens. Maybe that means... I can still do something. Maybe stop it from happening?" Naomi was unable to recognize the sudden eerie change in her voice and continuance when she continued her thought, "Maybe I can kill him first."

The Voice had no answer, and so Naomi planned for four days.

On the first day, she followed Light just like Raye had, the sadness, loss, and rage growing stronger each day, as the critical part of her urging her to kill herself grew stronger and more venomous. It hurt so much to think of Raye. She wanted very badly to take the second day off and just sleep some more, but feared that she might kill herself if she stayed at home. There would be nothing to think about but The Voice mocking her, and so she watched Light again. After a week she knew that she'd have his schedule memorized. She began a file on him, and covered a wall in her apartment with her notes, spy photos, and a pin-marked map of the region showing his known locations.

On the third day she watched him go to the same building after his university class as she had seen him go to the day before. The building was registered to some entertainment corporation and had been built quickly only this year. That must be L's doing…

When she thought of L she was ashamed. What would he think of her? Failing like this? She couldn't try to contact him now. For some reason she couldn't stand the shame of anyone knowing that she was suicidal – that she was crazy. It set her off on a new jag of despair worse than before, and she slept again for ten hours, and lay awake for another three, just staring at the darkness and listening to her horrible thoughts churn and churn.

In order to quite the sadness a bit, she tried not to think about Raye. She thought about someone else instead, someone from her past who she was beginning to understand better, the Wara Ningyou killer. The Voice in her head that started off as her own negative thoughts started to sound like him. A calm, but mocking, young man's voice. When The Voice began to change it became somewhat more amenable, but no less negative. But perhaps thinking of... that man... was a mistake, she thought, as she continued to give in to the changes in her mind.

By the fifth day she felt more rage than sadness. She was feeling more reckless and emotional than ever before. The Voice kept her from believing that her ideas about names, and curses, and means of death were good enough that she should try again to contact L.

Her mind became lost to the purpose, to the all-consuming darkness that grew stronger, and her ambition became less about preventing her own death or stopping Light, than about avenging Raye and hurting Light.

She stopped brushing her hair or changing her clothes when she stopped following him. When she knew the perfect time and place to find Light alone and unprotected, she coldly began to prepare her last mission.

Nine days after Light wrote the name Naomi felt very differently than she did before. She looked differently too, with disheveled hair and clothes - the way she had imagined her 'other self' when The Voice still sounded a little bit like her.

When she had Light, bound, gagged and blindfolded in the garbage bag lined trunk of her rental car she felt nothing, when before she would have been at least quite a bit disturbed with herself. She just felt sadness and rage, and she was more sure than ever that it was Kira's curse. When she assured herself again, The Voice only agreed. He only made her second guess thoughts that the old, useless, Naomi would have.

"If it's his curse affecting your mind, can you really be blamed?"

She didn't bother to disagree at this point, he always convinced her anyway, "Of course not," she answered out loud.

"Good girl," He complimented in a delighted tone.

It made her feel nice to get along with him and find some peace in her thoughts. For the rest of the drive, she hummed softly to herself as Light kicked hopelessly at the inside of the trunk.

She heard The Voice laugh in her mind, but it was really her own laugh seeping out of the wide, toothy smile that she didn't realize now occupied her face.

There was an abandoned church far outside of town, relatively unknown. She knew of it through her former job with the police, because the Mafia used it sometimes to interrogate or intimidate someone in the early 90's, but when the heat came down they fled. If they still used it, they didn't use it often or stay long, because none of Raye's contacts at the police seemed to know of it when she returned. It would be perfect.


	2. Laughter

Chapter 2: Laughter

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><p>Light had started the day like any other, big plans on his mind, and humming with apprehension over L, classes, his social life, and his greater purpose. A black-winged spectre hovered from time to time over his head, or behind his back, coming and going as it pleased. On his wrist was his watch, with a fresh piece of Death Note inside. But he hadn't expected to see her again, behind the recycling bins in the alley shortcut home that only he knew about. 'Why wasn't she dead?' he wondered, surprised, as he felt something sharp jab his skin. Waking up in the dark and finding himself tied and helpless, Light began to panic before calming himself to think. He concluded that, according to the rules, even if he could get to his watch, he wouldn't be able to use the powers of death on the same person twice.<p>

Naomi drove right into the damaged part of the building. It was perfect for hiding vehicles. Pushing Light into the trunk was easier than pulling him out, but there was no reason to be gentle or to attempt to look graceful, she didn't care if she hurt him and out here no one could see...

"If someone were to die here they might never be found…" Naomi either thought or said out loud. Light chose that moment to strike a particularly harsh and angry scream through his gag, so it was probably the latter. Naomi felt that she was forgetting something because her observation didn't stir any particular feeling within her and she had learned to expect horrible answers from The Voice, like a dog learns to anticipate being hit with a newspaper. But there was only manic laughter in her mind. She didn't think about it long enough to find it unsettling because it was better than before. She was beginning to like The Voice while he laughed. When he was laughing, he wasn't making her feel bad about herself, so she was free to feel satisfaction, anticipation, and the feeling of rightness you get when everything goes exactly as planned. She was able to feel good about her choices again.

Unfortunately, she was no longer able to make good choices.

As he was dragged, Light could feel his skin scratch and bleed on the gravely floor on his arms and where his shirt was beginning to ride up. His yelling behind the gag began to fade into muffled, pitiful whining. It sounded so pathetic; Naomi found it highly amusing. She began to anticipate him breaking down into tears. She wanted to take something from him that he could never get back, like he had taken so much from her. She wasn't content to just kill him, she wanted him to die inside, like she had.

She stopped her slow and clumsy dragging to look down at him in the dirt, "Revenge will be so sweet, won't it, Light?" she smiled.

When Light didn't make any sound in reply she kicked him sharply in the ribs, connecting her boot to his midsection as he doubled over in pain with wet, meaty thunk-sounds five or six times until he wailed. She kept her foot on his chest and turned him to lie on his back and put her weight on his sternum. There was quiet for a moment while he just looked back up at her, silent but sweating. He began to struggle again, to get her foot off of his chest, and she obliged by moving it upwards slowly, dragging it up the left side of his chest, over his heart, and up to his neck, pausing to push down again on his throat. A wicked smile painted Naomi's wan, tired face and Light's eyes widened like saucers, his nose was beginning to run, but didn't make a sound. Naomi stepped down until he choked, then booted him in the ribs again until he rolled over, curled up in a little ball. It was so funny.

She turned him back over so that she could see his face again and bent down, kneeling on the floor uncomfortably close, and took out a nasty looking switchblade.

"You little, murdering, waste," she spat, smiling into the harsh words, running the dull edge of her blade along the material of his gag, "You horrible, sick piece of shit. How many good people got caught in your game?" Her eyes began to burn brightly, staring deep into him as she leaned down closer, sliding the steel edge deliberately along his cheek, "You killed my husband, a good man, and so many others. You did… something to me."

Light flinched every time his eye caught the flash of the blade, watching the small movements of her hand. Naomi brought her face closer to his, as he watched the blade, bidding him to look in her eyes. When they met, she began to slide the knife under the strap holding the gag.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" she asked, and cut with a quick careless motion, unleashing a clear scream.

"You bitch!" Light rattled out, earning a knee to the stomach. Naomi moved to crouch, and placed all of her weight there.

"NO!" She shouted, "YOU are the bitch," nearly spitting on his face, "You're a little punk, and you're going to die like a remorseless bitch," she grunted, slapping his face with each insult.

Light suddenly looked to the side, as if surprised by something and fixed his stare at a certain point, a broken stained glass window. Naomi looked in the direction he sought, but saw nothing.

"No one's coming to save you," she taunted, and smiled at how his agitation appeared to increase.

"Please, help me," he said dryly, apparently to no one. "Why won't you -?"

_Who was he looking to for help?_ Naomi wondered. _The saints on the windows?_ That thought struck her as amazingly funny, and she screeched with laughter.

"Light Yagami," she whispered in a saccharine, mocking tone, running the knife along the buttons of his shirt, slicing them gracelessly off his body, "Are you praying to God in this church? I didn't think you were the type," she scoffed.

"Stop it…" Light said, with admirable composure, through gritted teeth. She only laughed and waved the knife under his nose, while he squeezed his eyes shut.

With his shirt now open, she used the knife to open the sleeves so that what was once a nice garment was shredded to useless rags. There was no need to administer the same treatment to the pants, as she hadn't tied his legs, and could pull them off without hindrance, but she was amused by the zipper sound of the knife shredding fabric.

"Don't kick," She ordered like a schoolteacher, as she opened his belt and jerked it away with a smooth motion.  
>"NO!" Light yelled in response, kicking wildly.<p>

Naomi pressed the side of the knife into his cheek, dull edge out so as to not cut him by accident, and looked him harshly in the eye.

"If you kick your legs, you are going to get cut," she said, with a menacing red glint in her eye that froze him.

After struggling with the tough seam at the waist of the khaki pants, she sliced quickly down the left leg, with an upward motion down to the hem, and then nipped the blade point into the thigh on the right, doing the same. With her knee still digging into Light's stomach, she sliced a few more times to tear the waist off the right side and discarded the mess of torn cloth that she had left. Long strips of cloth that had come apart with zipper sounds and flashes of light off a silver blade in the dark, dim, quiet sanctuary. It had all passed much too quickly for her.

She moved to straddle his legs in order to keep them in place to be tied, while Light lay still in fear, wanting to shout and break free more than anything. He could now feel an incredible heat radiating from between Naoimi's legs, through her black jeans against his bare skin, as she squeezed his legs tightly with her thighs. It was only then, there in nothing but his boxers, that he noticed the hard sexual tension of the situation, and it scared him when he realized that he was undeniably attracted to this monster. She tied his feet with his own belt, and secured it with a few knots of rags from his ruined clothes.

When she was done, he began to kick again, or attempt it. "HELP!" he shouted at some wall or alcove, again to Naomi's delight.

Light's shinigami shadow kept to the dark corners without speaking or interfering, just observing and chuckling mildly, the way he did at everything.

"Say it again, Light," she cooed, crawling up beside him and tracing the point of her knife in light patterns on his shoulder, as naturally as if it were her own finger.  
>"Help!" He repeated, weaker.<p>

Naomi just laughed and let her knife flip over to the sharp side, and slid it painfully along an inch of his creamy white skin. He gasped, and so did she. It was the first cut, and she knew there would be many more.

"Why?" he entreated, not looking at her, and repeated, "why?"

No one answered him. Naomi just stood up and began to drag his body by the armpits, she wanted to bring him up to the alter, where the light streamed in through the broken windows and dusty chairs and cobwebbed crosses made a little diorama of sin and sacrifice. He seemed lighter than before, and she along with the voice, now so friendly and familiar, laughed together like old friends. They laughed at Light, at the church, the silence, the laughter, at themselves, at her impending death, and everything else. It all just seemed so damned funny.


	3. Passion of Light

Chapter 3: Passion of Light

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><p>She hoisted him onto the dusty table right in the middle of the alter, like a real sacrifice in some pagan ritual. The exertion hadn't tired her as much as it had before, and she attributed that to her excitement, as she shed her leather jacket and felt the damp, cool air on her arms.<p>

She pulled Light by the hair, directing his face toward the cross that hung over the choir box.

"You think that a miracle will happen for you, Light?"  
>Light calmed a bit, hoping for an opportunity to talk his way out of this, "No, I don't think that."<br>"No, you don't. You think that you're better than the rest of us, don't you? That you deserve to judge us all, don't you? That's why you kill these criminals. Not for justice, not for revenge."  
>"Is there anything so wrong with that? Some people are better than others. They're smart, work hard, hone their skills, their bodies and minds, and they do good. Why should those people live in a world spoiled by waste? There's so few criminals, but they ruin everything; one bad apple spoils a bunch, or so they say."<br>"Was Raye not smart and hard working? Kind? Good?"  
>"He misguided, like you. He was in the way of the new world."<br>"New world?"  
>"Yes. The better world that I'm trying to create."<br>"But what gives you the right?" Naomi yelled frustrated that Light had sidestepped that question, "Why you above all of the others? Not just the other killers, but the other so called 'good people'? Are you really trying to create a world in your own image, like some kind of modern God?" The Voice laughed, and then she did too.

"More like 'modern magician'", The Voice joked to Naomi, "with only one trick, and it's not a very good one. Make people die, ha! It's EASY to make people die, even without magic. It's not getting caught that's hard..."

Light did not answer, he thought it was obvious. He saw that she had rebuffed his attempt to win her over, and couldn't think of another.

"So you think you're a god, hmmmm?" Naomi cooed, putting her face much too close to Light's own. Again, he didn't answer. "Oh, Light," she giggled wildly, "I'm a woman considering suicide and hearing voices," she paused to laugh at her unfunny non-joke as Light watched coolly, "But YOU are _insane_," she finished seriously.

Her face cracked into a smile before it really had time to sink in. She pulled him to face the cross again, "You think you're a god?" she whispered, digging the dull side of the blade into the ropey muscles of his back, "Then suffer," she sighed, as she finally allowed herself to slice a long, shallow, angry red gash across both shoulder blades.

It was beautiful. She thought it would be hilarious to draw wings, but he was squirming already.

"What are you doing to me, you bitch?" Light screamed, trying to shake her off. She nicked him with the blade again and answered that, as she had told him before, _he_ was the bitch in this situation.  
>"You know, I wanted to cut your belly first, it's such a nice, soft, smooth canvas to work with. Very sensitive and delicate… But there's too many organs there, and you're too damn squirmy," she rattled on, "You see how I help you, Light? Thank me." She said, slapping his face.<p>

"Whore!" he shouted, before his left cheek was cut, and a second nick to his back began to form the incredibly badly drawn angle wings Naomi hastily planned.

"Ok, fine, it's for me too. I want you to last a long time, Light. Are you cold, by the way?"  
>"Yes!"<br>"Good," she smiled, earning laughter from The Voice, as she hummed and ignored the squirms and the protests while she ruined the milk white young flesh beneath her with a brush of beautiful red that would oxidize to scabby brown, but never completely heal.

It went on for minutes that seemed like hours, and his protests got hoarser, fainter, and faded. She felt warm and alive while he seemed to shrink beneath her, his mind going someplace dark to hide from her fire. She recognized that as the moment to humiliate him. Now, with the thoroughly ugly wings drawn on, she latched her thumbs into his boxers, his last remaining clothes, and pulled them down toward his ankles. She pulled his posterior upward and spread the cheeks apart, so that he was more exposed than he had ever been, with her looking right into him, spreading him, and just looking and laughing.

"Oh, Light," she called out, much too loud. It echoed in the church. If only you could see how ridiculous you look." She walked in front of him, and off to left stage where a large candelabra stood drenched with a waterfall of cobwebs. Took one candle out, cleaning it hastily with the hem of her t-shirt, and walked in front of him again, then circled unnecessarily, like a shark.

They both knew where the candle was going to go. The small protest, 'No', was obligatory, but she laughed at it, stretched him quickly, without tenderness and rammed it in dry, with all of her anger and hate clenched into a fist, literally punching him at the end of her stroke, to the accompaniment of a pathetic cry. She couldn't stop herself, and managed ten or so violent thrust before tiring and switching hands. She realized that she should have made him lick it, that would have been funny, but there was still the opportunity to make him lick it off afterward. That was if it didn't break inside of him, which was a possibility that she hadn't thought of.

"Oh well," she sighed to herself, easing her pace, "Hey, Light. You see now? You're no god. Just a ridiculous man with a candle shoved up his ass," she laughed and he moaned pathetically.

She reached around under him, and squeezed his balls, lightly at first, and then painfully, then palmed his erection harshly and pumped, changing the cadence of his moans to something between pleasure and extreme pain and anger.

"Well, well, you're hard from this, I can see," she laughed, almost panting at the heat rising from both of their bodies. Her jeans now seemed too hot to wear and she kicked them off.

"Lick the blood," The Voice commanded suddenly, as if it had waited for the right moment. It amused her that The Voice came up with things that she hadn't, "I bet it tastes like strawberry jam," it said, trying to tempt her.

"Strawberry jam, how odd," she thought, she hadn't especially liked that kind. When she was in the states, taking breakfast in a diner, she'd put orange marmalade on her toast. It was less sweet and had little chunks of peel that were sometimes spiced and fun to chew. But strawberry jam was much too sweet and often failed to taste like actual strawberries. But she didn't protest to the foreign thought too much, and jumped up onto the table, draping herself all over Light's back and embracing him like an animal holding down its prey, tasting the blood.

It was salty and tasted nothing like jam. "Of course it wouldn't," she thought absently.

"I bet you can't use your god-powers to stop this from happening to you," she growled, licking the shell of his ear, as she flipped him over.

She threw her panties on his face, knowing they'd be unpleasant after days of wear, like the rest of her clothes, and laughed. He began to squirm again from the discomfort of having his bleeding back pressed on, but she slapped him over and over until he froze and looked up at her. She mouthed something that might have been 'This is for Raye… but also for me," and lowered herself onto him. Before she started to move, he looked up at her with alarm, pleading for mercy, but finding such crazed eyes, he bit his lip and looked away, blushing in horror and humiliation as two horrible voices laughed at his pain and degradation.

With the knowledge that she was going to die she fucked like this was going to be her last. She used Light's toned body roughly, grasping him tight, pinching, and scratching him, just to hear more whimpers and cries. Her climax within minutes was assured, his face beneath her was panting and pained, reddened from the slapping and the shame, but still not blubbering.

"Isn't it wonderful?" she panted, almost yelling, "... that I'll never have to answer for this, Light?" He seemed far away, still in pain, but not enough for her taste. "You destroyed me, and the only one I loved." She said harshly, squeezing his face until he looked at her. "You wronged me, and this is my revenge. I don't have to face any punishment for this crime, though I'll die anyway. You were going to let me die innocent, but I won't have it like that. YOU will suffer though," she whined, feeling close, "Yes, yes, you…" she growled, wrapping her fingers around his neck, "You did this to yourself," she went on squeezing.

"You, you, you. Murderer," she gasped, as she wrang his neck harshly, forcing out the tears that she wanted, just as the warm ocean waves of orgasm took her over and over again. She rocked and moaned long and loud while Light, beneath her, was left on the brink even as she stopped and climbed off.

Light lay quietly sobbing, turned his head away, trying to hide it, and still visibly aroused, hating himself for the feeling. His shaft protruded stiffly upward, his ego was shut up in a little cave inside of him somewhere. He could no longer hear the shinigami's laughter, the church looked empty, and his eyes scanned for Naomi and found her in the darkness, dirty and sweating in her short, bloodstained t-shirt.

"You're not sorry, are you?" She asked.  
>"He never will be," The Voice answered.<p>

Light's small sobbing sounds and motions didn't indicate that he even heard.

"APOLOGIZE!" Naomi screamed, grabbing his shaft roughly.

He only screamed with surprise and agony as he felt it, the demand barely registered.

She sliced a shallow line across his chest, and yelled it again, "Apologize!"

Light was able to force his voice out, sounding small and pathetic, as Naomi stroked him. He hated the feeling, and wanted to vomit. He just wanted her to stop, he'd say anything, "I'm sorry for killing you."

The pace of Naomi's hand quickened. She was not gentle.

"I'm sorry for killing your husband."  
>"What was his name? Say it!" She was furious again, she barely knew why she was doing this. The bliss of before had almost completely worn off, and she was no longer friends with her Voice.<p>

And then Light said the name, and Naomi heard the church bell ring.

The church bell rang on its own, somehow. An odd occurring, and not something that should have even been possible. Naomi wondered if it had really happened, or if it was just in her mind, but the candelabra still vibrated with the sound.

She looked around at the open empty darkness of the awful abandoned church. Quiet. Quiet. Nothing but dark and silence, and two wretched people mocking God. The 'service' as over, the depression draped over her like a heavy curtain falling.

It seemed so useless now. She tried to stab her knife into the alter with as much rage as she could muster, but there was none there. The knife barely stuck into the wood by Light's left side.

When she looked down at him, something inside had been satisfied. But was it Naomi? Naomi was ashamed of herself. The old Namoi was sorry. The current Naomi didn't know what she felt or who the feelings belonged to, but she knew she couldn't finish what she had started. He had suffered, but he wouldn't die by her hand. Perhaps the elements would do their job. Parts of her hoped they would, but maybe he'd escape somehow; use the knife she'd left so near him. It didn't matter to her.

"You'll either die, or someone will find you like this. Either way, I know that you've suffered." She said blankly looking up. Then back to him, meeting his eye, shining with moisture, "Has it changed you? Has it changed anything?"

His look didn't change, his eyes sparkled but didn't move. Naomi put her pants back on, and then her jacket over her bloody shirt.

"Goodbye, Light."


	4. The End

Chapter 5: The End

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><p>Naomi left the church and began driving. Though she wasn't trying to hide, she didn't stop for days, not until she reached a small town in Hokkido where her grandparents owned a summer cottage.<p>

She loved that cottage, with its thin paper walls and creaky floors. It was the backdrop of her favourite childhood memories. It was one of the first places she had taken Raye on his first trip to Japan to meet her family.

She remembered the summer friends of her youth, who's names were lost in time, that she had played with, sharing cherry popsicles. She remembered showing off her engagement ring.

No one was there now. No one would ever know that she had been there. The food that she ate from the freezer would not be missed when the summer rolled back around, and she hid the trash. She dropped her rental car in a ravine, and let salt water, rain, and landslides claim it. She didn't want to see or talk to anyone for any reason.

For her final days, Naomi lived in something that was as close to peace and happiness as she could feel. The Voice was not silent, he was never quite kind, but somehow it was still familiar, and no longer howled for revenge. She took little walks with it, through the hills and brush, seeing no one, breathing the air of forests and beaches.

In the mornings, just before her dreams faded, she felt joy, and could almost imagine Raye was in the bed with her, still sleeping.

But it couldn't last.

She planned when to end it, though she felt like she could go on like this for a few more weeks, because she wanted that control. Her dignity demanded it.

She planned where to end it. On a beautiful little tree, deep in the woods that she used to hike out to and have picnics under, when it was 20 feet shorter.

Thirteen days after Light Yagami had written the name, he was back in Tokyo. He made his way back with the help of promises made to his thoroughly useless and somewhat malevolent dark guardian angel.

He never even bothered to ask, "Why didn't you do anything?" He knew that it was because of two things. One, it was _interesting_. And two, the numbers above his head were not approaching zero, and the shinigami had no reason to kill him with his own note - the jester still had a few good jokes in him.

But the bell? Was that just Ryuk playing around, or did he mean to scare her? Light didn't think about this, because he wished for the latter and suspected the former. And, since his numbers weren't up, something would have stopped her from killing him anyway.

Light could never tell anyone close to him about what happened, and that was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because he never had to face anyone knowing about it (except for one person/thing, or (worst of all) pitying him. A curse, because he had to shoulder the burden alone, and he didn't know how to handle the alterations made to his mind and body that he didn't ask for or want. He couldn't get up the nerve to touch himself for a long time. He hid the scars on his back and they faded to rusty brown, and remained as slightly reddened, raised flesh.

Sometimes he had nightmares about it. On some nights, other people that he killed came back to hurt him. On others, L and Naomi fused together into a chimera that tortured him. Sometimes he dreamed that he was in a pool of blood and the shinigami just smiled at him.

He tried to block it out. To twist it into something different, try and believe that she was in love with him… Believe that it was a dream, or that he had wanted it in some way, or that it had hardened him, and made him stronger.

But he couldn't block it out, and it hadn't made him stronger. Only meaner and more wary.

Thirteen days after Light Yagami had written the name, Naomi was haunted by her sins no more. But the stain of the punishment that she inflicted lasted on and on.

* * *

><p>The End<p> 


End file.
